How 11x2 Could Have Gone
by Aini NuFire
Summary: In which Cas gets rescued like he should have been… (Two versions)
1. Version 1

**A/N: I've been re-watching early season 11, and 11x2 "Form and Void" just begs for extended codas of h/c. Also,** **there were a few things that bugged me. One was the episode starting with Dean trying to get a hold of Cas, and then ending with him and Sam going back to the bunker without further thought to the poor angel. (Also, how exactly does Cas get his trench coat back on while *still* wearing the handcuffs?)**

 **So this is just another way things could have gone. I actually wrote two AU versions (because why not), and will post the second next Wednesday under this fic.**

 **Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ isn't mine, I'm just playing in their sandbox. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!**

* * *

Sam huffed out a disbelieving breath after Dean had finished telling him what happened with Jenna and Amara. After Sam had cured the rest of the people in Superior, he'd started making his way home. Dean had picked him up at the border of Nebraska and Kansas, and they'd spent the entire drive filling each other in on everything. Well, not _everything_. Sam had kept some things to himself. Besides, what Dean had learned trumped the few complications that Sam had already overcome.

"Alright, I still don't understand. I mean, I thought the Darkness was a woman, not a child."

Dean shook his head, taking the exit off the highway into Lebanon. "Well, same here. I don't know. Maybe whatever I saw wasn't real. Maybe it was a vision."

Sam tensed. "Vision?" A vision from the Darkness, or…someone else? But it wasn't like Dean was the praying type. Even Sam had to be at the end of his rope to pray to God in that hospital chapel.

"Yeah," Dean replied, sounding ready to disregard the experience altogether. Sam decided now wasn't the best time to bring up his own vision. Besides, it wasn't like he knew what it meant.

"Huh. Pretty weird."

Dean let out a half snort. "Yeah, weird with a weird cherry on a weird top." He suddenly leaned forward over the steering wheel and eased off the gas. "What the…"

Sam looked up to find a roadblock made of several pickups and some police cruisers, lights flashing. A group of men of various ages, some in sheriff uniforms, others in plain clothes, but all carrying shotguns, stood clustered just off to the side.

Dean slowly brought the Impala to a stop and rolled down his window as a deputy detached from the posse.

"Gentlemen," the man greeted with a tip of his hat. "Sorry, road's closed. I'm gonna have to ask you to turn around."

"What's the problem?" Dean asked.

Sam fished out his FBI badge from his jacket and leaned over to show the deputy.

"Agents," the officer amended, injecting a bit more respect into his tone. "We've got a manhunt going on."

"A fugitive?" Dean asked.

"No, some vagrant. Local farmer and his boys were tracking something that had slaughtered some animals. Quite a surprise when they found a man instead, practically foaming rabid. Youngest boy is lucky to be alive. From what he described, sounds like this guy is hopped up on PCP or something."

Sam's mouth turned down, and he exchanged a wary look with Dean. The rabids were supposed to have been isolated to Superior, and Sam had cured them all. No way should a case be all the way out here. It could be something else, but only a few miles away from the bunker? Was that really a coincidence?

Dean swept his gaze around the area. "He in these woods somewhere?"

The deputy reached up to rub the back of his neck. "We thought so, but truth is we completely lost the trail yesterday. It's like he just vanished. Which I frankly can't explain. How do you lose a guy in a suit and beige trench coat all the way out here?"

Sam jerked ramrod straight. "What?"

"You say trench coat?" Dean blurted.

The deputy shrugged. "I know, right? Sounds nuts. Anyway, I can't let you guys through."

"Uh, yeah," Dean stammered. "Totally understand. Thanks." He rolled the window back up and then shot Sam an alarmed look. "You don't think…?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Did you ever get a hold of Cas again?"

Dean's expression hardened, and he put the car in reverse. "No."

He backed the Impala up enough to turn her around and started heading back the way they'd come in order to take another route toward the bunker. Sam pulled out his cell and tried calling Cas. It went straight to voicemail. He stared at his phone's screen until it went dark.

"I don't get it, you think Cas is hunting some monster and the locals confused him with it?"

Dean didn't respond for a beat. "Cas said on the phone that what he had we couldn't help with."

Sam furrowed his brow. What he had? What was that supposed to mean? "Maybe he made it back to the bunker, and that's how he lost the goon squad back there."

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, voice strained under the pressure of trying to remain calm and collected. "That goodbye he gave us…it sounded a little final."

Yeah, it had. Sam just hadn't had time to dwell on it when they'd been surrounded by Darkness infected people wanting to butcher them and a newborn infant. Who actually turned out to be their…leader, mother, what?

Shaking off the distraction, Sam punched the GPS locator app on his phone and tried to pull up Cas's cell. His stomach tightened when there was absolutely no signal from the angel's phone. That meant it was either off…or destroyed. Sam tried not to jump to any conclusions.

After a moment of consideration, he worked a few tricks with the app, and was able to retrieve data on where Cas's phone had last been transmitting from. Sam's breath nearly caught in his throat. It wasn't far.

"Dean, here." He showed his brother the map and the faded gray dot where Cas's cell had last been active. It was three miles away from the hunting posse, but not necessarily headed toward the bunker. Sam still thought that had to be where Cas ended up. But this location was closer, so they'd check there first, just to be on the safe side.

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala to a crawling stop outside the old abandoned building. Never a good place to be hanging out, he thought ruefully. Why would Cas be here when the bunker was so close?

Oh, Dean had a hunch. Why would Cas ever bother going back to the bunker after what Dean did to him there? Sure, the angel had been worried about Dean, had wanted to know if the Mark was gone, but that didn't mean Cas had any intention of teaming up with them again, ever. Though, when he'd said goodbye like that…it was almost sad, pained, like Cas didn't really want it.

Dean pushed those morose thoughts aside. He needed to focus here, because he did not like the vibe of this place.

He and Sam quietly exited the car and crept toward the building. They both froze in their tracks at the guttural scream that echoed up from inside. Exchanging harried looks, they drew their guns and moved forward with practiced stealth. Dean spotted a doorway with bent hinges, as though the door itself had been ripped clean off. There was another agonized cry, and then shouting by more than one voice.

Screw this, if Cas was in there, they needed to be too. Dean surged forward and through the doorway. He hadn't known what to expect, but the sight of Cas bloody and tied to a chair with that metal… _thing_ on his head, made Dean's heart do a terrified flip. He counted three mooks—had to be angels—but one was on the ground while another kicked him mercilessly, and the third had his gaze fixed on Cas.

Which meant it took them a second too long to notice the Winchesters. Dean whipped out his angel blade and charged down the few steps toward the angel closest to Cas. The guy's mouth dropped open in surprise, and Dean rammed his blade through the angel's throat.

He yanked the weapon out and spun, just as the angel who'd been beating on the third whirled, eyes blazing with rage. The wingless dick took a step forward, but then Sam was emptying his magazine into the angel, whose body jerked violently from each bullet's impact. Dean ran forward and tried to stab the guy, but Sam's bullets were barely a distraction, and the angel dodged Dean's strike, grabbing him by the throat and flinging him over his shoulder.

Dean toppled over the angel on the ground and rolled until his back hit the wall with a jarring thud. He heard Sam's cry next, and blinked the black spots from his vision in time to see his brother land on the other side of the room.

"Would you look at that," the angel said. "I ask for the Winchesters, and they get dropped right in my lap."

Dean coughed and clutched at his chest, trying to regain his breath enough to get up.

"Guess I don't need Castiel anymore," the angel continued. "Since he insists he doesn't know anything." The angel flicked his wrist, and the screws already placed in the contraption on Cas's head simultaneously pushed in deeper. Cas threw his head back and screamed.

"No!" The angel on the ground pushed himself up and lunged at the first. Dean could barely keep track of who was who, but the sadistic angel ended up with the upper hand again, pulling an angel blade from his sleeve and stabbing it through the other angel's throat. There wasn't even a scream as light exploded from the gaping mouth.

"I warned you, Hannah," he seethed, shoving the body off his blade and to the ground.

Dean was stunned for a moment. _Hannah_?

There was the sound of wood snapping, and Cas leaped from the chair with a visceral roar. He charged the last angel left standing, shoving him back against a column. The angel punched Cas across the face, but Cas merely snarled and ducked under the next swing with swift agility. Dean would have been impressed if it wasn't for the wild look in Cas's eyes, completely devoid of conscious thought and rationale. He watched in growing horror as Cas stabbed the angel through the heart. There was another supernova of a dying angel, and then the sound of a body thudding on the ground.

Dean tensed as Cas turned toward him, eyes filled with red like blood and mouth open in a half-snarl. He tightened his grip on his angel blade instinctively, even as his brain was screaming at him not to hurt his friend, not again.

Dean was saved from having to make that decision, thankfully, because lucidity crept into Cas's eyes a second later, and his expression slackened in horror.

"No," Cas uttered. "No, no." He crumpled to his knees on the floor.

Dean slowly got up, as did Sam across the room, and they both cautiously approached the angel.

"Cas?" Dean called tentatively.

"No," Cas continued chanting under his breath, his gaze flitting frantically around the dead bodies.

"Cas," Sam tried. "You're safe now. It's Sam and Dean. Can you hear me?"

Cas darted his eyes up at them as they gradually closed the distance. "Help me," he rasped desperately, and the utter terror Dean saw in his friend made his gorge rise.

Dean drew to a stop. Cas may have been asking for help, but he was obviously terrified, and Dean didn't want to make it worse. After all, he couldn't blame Cas for not wanting to be near him.

"Yeah, yeah, we're gonna help you," Sam soothed, slowly crouching down in front of him. Cas recoiled sharply.

"No, _please_. Don't- don't let me hurt…anyone else."

"Cas, that angel was gonna kill us, kill you," Dean said, finally lowering himself down to Cas's level too. "You did what you had to."

Cas squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a low, guttural groan sounding in the back of his throat. "No," he gasped, breaths coming more labored now. "Rowena…cast a spell. I- I can't _control_ it." He shuddered violently.

Dean froze. That feral look he'd seen in Cas's eyes suddenly took on a whole new meaning. They'd seen Rowena use that spell before. It turned innocent people into rabid attack dogs before killing them. _"What I have you can't help me with."_

Dean ran a hand down his face. "Shit." As if they didn't have enough problems.

Sam eased forward a little, keeping his voice low and calm. "Cas, let me get this off."

Cas was breathing raggedly through his nose and didn't bother opening his eyes, but he didn't protest, either, so Sam carefully started pulling out those horrific pins from Cas's brain. Some were stained red two inches up from the tips.

Dean swallowed a surge of bile, and lowered his gaze to take in the rest of Cas's wounds. His dress shirt had several slashes and holes in it, all covered in blood. How long had these bastards had him chained up and tortured?

"I'll get these cuffs off," he said gruffly, but Cas jerked his hands up, hitting Sam's arm as he was pulling a pin out and jarring it. Cas folded in on himself with a strangled cry, and would have hit his head on the ground if Dean hadn't lashed out to catch him by the shoulders.

"Easy, easy!" Dean braced Cas as the angel practically convulsed in his arms. Sam twisted around to get the last pin, and finally pulled the heinous contraption off, tossing it clear across the room with a raucous clang.

"Cas!" Sam gripped Cas's arm, trying to help hold him still as the angel continued to tremble violently.

"Leave…the cuffs," Cas choked out. "It's…too dangerous."

Dean's stomach clenched. "Hey, you're okay. You got this, man; you are controlling it."

Cas shook his head against Dean's shoulder. "It's digging deeper."

Dean met his brother's worried gaze. "Okay. Okay, the bunker's real close, Cas. You were almost there. Can you stand?"

Cas didn't respond for a moment except for a low keening sound in the back of his throat. But then he slowly pulled away from Dean and tried to sit up straighter. Sam hooked his arms under Cas's right while Dean took his left, and together they hefted the angel to his feet. Dean spotted Cas's coat and cracked cell phone on a nearby crate, and had half a mind to leave them there so local law enforcement would blame one of these bastards for the animal killings. But Dean couldn't bring himself to do that. Angling himself to the side, he snatched them both up.

"Okay, here we go," he said, turning toward the door.

He and Sam half-supported, half-carried Cas out to the Impala and laid him down in the backseat. Then they quickly got in the front and gunned it out of there.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "How'd the angels find you?" he asked. If the wingless dicks were roaming around this close to the bunker, then maybe the warding needed a tuneup.

Cas was so quiet, Dean thought he might have passed out. Sam twisted in his seat to check.

"I…prayed," Cas said in barely above a whisper. "For help." He let out a bitter, garbled sound. "I should have known better."

Dean's fingers cramped around the steering wheel. Cas…hadn't been heading to the bunker at all. He had prayed to his brothers for help, knowing how they felt about him, how pissed they were about everything. He'd gone to them for help instead of the Winchesters.

 _And why not_ , a vicious voice slithered in his mind. The last time Dean had seen the angel, Dean had beaten the crap out of him, threatened to kill him. Cas had no reason to come to them for help ever again.

"We're gonna fix this, Cas," Dean promised. Because he couldn't let his best friend, his _brother_ , down the way Cas's angel family always did. Dean had to do better. He vowed to do better.

* * *

Sam's stomach was a mess of knots throughout the short drive back to the bunker. Cas was…in really bad shape. That spell Rowena cast, it was fatal to humans. Sam hoped Cas's angel wiring would fight it off, though that obviously wasn't happening yet. Not that he was in much shape to fight off a witch's curse after having been tortured for a day.

What had possessed Cas to ask the angels for help? After breaking Metatron out of Heaven's prison, Cas had to know the angels wouldn't be so forgiving. But he'd gone to them anyway. He hadn't even bothered to tell Sam and Dean what was going on when they'd talked on the phone a couple days ago. He'd just said goodbye and that it might "be a while" before they saw each other again…like he knew he was about to be taken away. But dammit, why?

Sam closed his eyes against a wave of grief. He knew why. It was Sam's fault Cas had been cursed. He'd told the angel to get that spell to save Dean done, no matter the cost. And Dean had been right, there was a cost. The Darkness was now loose, something only God had defeated way before anything existed.

And Cas was hurting, possibly dying. The angel had probably kept quiet about it because he thought Sam's priority was always and only his brother. Which, given their track record, neither of them have given Cas much evidence to the contrary. Sam had meant it back in that hospital when he told Dean they had to change, asking when they'd lost sight of _saving_ other people. Sam had found a cure for the Darkness's affliction, and he was damn well going to find a cure for this curse too.

Dean pulled into the bunker's garage, and then he and Sam helped Cas out of the backseat and down the stairs. Each of Cas's steps felt heavier with each one, and he was practically sagging in their arms by the time they got him into one of the bedrooms. They laid him on the bed, which Cas sank into like a dead weight, eyes closed and breaths wheezing in his chest.

Dean leaned over the angel and gently lifted a tattered flap of shirt, his mouth turning down. "These aren't healing fast enough."

Yeah, that was worrying. The cut on Cas's cheek looked like it was starting to scab over, but that seemed to be the extent of healing he'd done. There was still blood mixed in his hair from the puncture holes, and Sam had no idea if there was even some kind of damage done by that device. It was hard to tell with the symptoms of Rowena's spell.

"I want to take these damn cuffs off," Dean growled.

Cas's eyes opened to mere slits. "No," he croaked.

"You're barely strong enough to sit up, let alone hurt either of us," Dean argued.

Cas clenched his fists, holding his arms tucked tightly against his body.

Sam worried at his lower lip. The cuffs could be holding the curse at bay, but they could also be making it more difficult for Cas to heal.

"Cas," he prompted gently. "Just for a short time, while we patch you up, okay? If you don't get some healing in…" He didn't want to say that he was worried Cas would die sooner, but the angel seemed to read it in his expression.

"I won't risk you," Cas said, voice sounding wrecked and pitiful.

Sam reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "And we're not risking _you_. First sign of violence and they'll go right back on, okay?"

Cas still looked reluctant, but either he was acquiescing or he just didn't have the energy to argue.

Sam went to get the first aid kit and bandages. By the time he returned, Dean had gotten the cuffs and shirt off, revealing a torso ravaged by an angel blade. There were cruel slashes, and even some deeper puncture wounds where the angels had inserted the blade straight in.

Dean was bending over Cas's head, having rolled him up a little on one side. His mouth was pressed in a tight line. "This one goes all the way through," he said.

Sam swallowed hard, but pushed down his emotions and started laying out the supplies. The two of them got to cleaning and stitching. It was difficult at times when a spasm would wrack Cas's body to the point they had to stop and hold their breaths, waiting to see if Cas was about to jump up like a rabid animal.

But each episode passed, leaving the angel more worn out each time. Sam moved to examine Cas's head, dabbing at the pin holes he could see through hair matted with blood.

"What were they trying to do?" Sam asked without meaning to.

Cas winced as a patch of gauze was pressed against one of the wounds still oozing blood. Sam noted how he deliberately moved his gaze to the wall opposite him and Dean.

"They wanted to know where to find you," Cas said in a soft voice.

Dean paused in his stitching of Cas's stomach. "Us? Why?"

"The Darkness," Cas whispered.

A lump gathered in Sam's throat. So the angels were gunning for them for starting the end of the world again. No surprise there.

"And you wouldn't tell them," Dean said quietly.

Cas still kept his gaze averted.

Sam suppressed a weary sigh. Once again, Cas had given up everything to protect the Winchesters.

They finished bandaging him up, and Sam collected the bloodied gauze and trash scattered across the mattress. "I'm gonna start looking for a cure," he said, and though part of him wanted to stay and make sure Cas would be okay, Sam knew the only way that was truly going to happen was if they found a way to lift this spell.

* * *

Dean grabbed a gray wool blanket from a drawer and draped it over Cas. The angel looked far too pale with all the blood wiped off, and there was a faint sheen on his brow. Dean placed the back of his hand against Cas's forehead, frowning at the heat radiating from it. Was the fever from the wounds, or the curse? Or both? Because that would be their kind of luck.

"Sit tight for a minute, okay, Cas? I'm gonna get some stuff."

Cas lashed out to grab his wrist, and Dean immediately tensed, prepared to see mindless rage staring up at him. But while Cas's eyes were still coated in red, it was the angel behind them.

"Put the cuffs back on."

Dean tightened his jaw. "Not yet."

"Dean, _please_. I don't want to hurt you. Please don't make me hurt you…" Cas's eyelids fluttered as he trailed off in exhaustion.

Dean's throat constricted at the words, far too similar to what Cas had pleaded to him not that long ago.

He gently pried Cas's fingers from around his wrist. "You're not gonna hurt me, Cas."

"I do. I always do," he mumbled.

Dean's stomach clenched. "Not always," he said in a low voice. "Not when you should have."

Because that day, in the library, Cas hadn't fought back. He hadn't delivered a single blow amidst Dean's brutal beating. How would things have gone differently if he had? Would Cas have managed to restrain Dean, keep him from walking out like that? Or would Dean have been pushed to actually go through with killing his best friend?

That thought alone was almost enough to make him throw up, and Dean fled the room to collect himself. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, telling himself to get a grip. Cas needed his help now, and wallowing in guilt and self-loathing wasn't gonna accomplish anything.

After taking a few steadying breaths, Dean gathered some small towels and filled a bowl with cold water before returning to the bedroom. Cas's eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping fitfully, facial muscles twitching, brow puckered. Dean took a seat next to the bed and started pressing a damp cloth against Cas's forehead.

Cas moaned, turning his head into the cool touch. "Hannah," he mumbled in what sounded like a sob.

Dean stilled in his ministrations.

"No." Cas tossed his head to the side, expression pinching in pain.

Dean reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Cas, you're okay. Cas."

The angel's eyes shot open, wide with terror as he jerked his gaze around the room.

"You're in the bunker," Dean continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. He'd never seen Cas like this, had always seen the angel bounce back from things. Dean moved his hand to gently cup the side of Cas's neck. "You're safe."

Cas slowly relaxed against the pillows, and Dean placed the cool cloth back on his forehead.

He waited for the angel's breathing to even out a little more before hesitantly asking, "So that was Hannah back there?"

Cas looked away.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't care for her," Cas replied tonelessly.

"Yeah, but you were friends. I know how much that hurts." Maybe that was when Dean and Sam had stopped fighting so hard to save people—when all their efforts turned out futile and they still lost those they cared about.

"Were friends," Cas repeated.

Frowning, Dean took the cloth away to drop it back in the bowl to re-soak. He scrutinized Cas's listless posture, the anguish in his feverish eyes. A sinking feeling started worming through his gut.

Dean rested his arms on the mattress. "Cas, did Hannah help do this to you?"

Cas's throat bobbed, and he looked down at his bandaged wrists, the stark white gauze looking like sports wraps.

Dean reeled back. Son-of-a-bitch, and he'd actually felt sorry the bitch was dead. He clamped his jaw together to keep from saying anything nasty in front of Cas. The angel was dealing with enough complicated emotions as it was, having been betrayed by someone he trusted.

And shit, didn't that ring all too familiar as well.

"Why didn't you tell me and Sam what was going on?" Dean couldn't help but ask. Demand. Because dammit, this wouldn't have happened if Cas had just been upfront with them.

Cas avoided looking at him. "You were…busy."

"We still would've come and got you."

"There's nothing you can do against this spell," Cas replied weakly. "I thought the angels could heal me…but not only did they not care at first, it turned out they can't."

Dean leaned forward again. "Sam and I will figure something out, we always do. We'll track down Rowena if we have to."

Cas sighed. "Don't you think the Darkness is a little more important?"

Dean blinked, stunned by the slightly bitter, mostly defeated tone in his friend's voice. Cas didn't really believe they'd just ignore this, did he? But that had to be it, because Dean kept going back to one thing—Cas turned to the angels for help first, knowing what they were capable of.

Dean had no idea how to fix this, how to repair the trust he'd broken. If it even could be fixed. Just like with the Darkness being let loose. But both were on Dean, so he had to try. And he sure as hell wasn't giving up on Cas.

Dean pulled out the sopping cloth and wrung out the excess water, then placed it back on the angel's forehead. Cas's eyes had drifted shut again, minute tremors running through his frame as the fever from the spell or his wounds pulled him under once more.

"Hang in there, Cas," Dean whispered. "We're gonna save you."

Because if there was one thing Winchesters were good at, aside from breaking the world, it was pulling family back from the brink.


	2. Version 2

**A/N: Here's the other version of 11x2 I wanted to write. No Hannah in this one. And thank you Guest Castielle and Cruelest Sea for your reviews of the first one!  
**

* * *

Dean held his phone to his ear and listened to the other line ring and ring and ring.

"Come on, Cas," he grumbled as the Impala revved down the road. The sooner Dean found the angel, the sooner they could get back to Superior and help Sam with his crazy-ass plan to cure the rabid Darkness infection.

Dean furled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel. Underneath his superficial layer of annoyance was festering worry gnawing at his gut. Cas had sounded terrible on the phone earlier, but of course the angel had only been concerned about Dean and whether the Mark was gone. Something was wrong, though, because instead of rushing to help them with the Darkness—like the angel always did—Cas had said 'goodbye.' Like, the final kind, the way Cas had sounded when he was ready to board up Heaven, back when he thought he was helping Metatron with Angel Trials and not a spell to cast the lot of winged dicks out.

Scowling in frustration, Dean pulled up the GPS app to track Cas's phone. It was still in Lebanon, but not near the bunker. It wasn't moving, either. Maybe Cas had lost his phone. Or dumped it. Dean's stomach tightened, and he pressed the gas harder.

Half an hour later, he punched redial and tried calling again. _Finally_ , the line clicked, and Dean drew in a breath to chew out the angel for being incommunicado. The cool voice that greeted him, though, punched the air right back out of his lungs.

"Dean Winchester, I presume."

"Who the hell is this?"

"Call me Efram."

Dean's fingers clenched around the case of his cell phone. "Where's Cas?"

"Oh, he's…hanging around," came the reply, the last part unusually emphasized. "Your incessant calling has been particularly disruptive. I admit I was ready to just stab the damn thing, but then it occurred to me—Castiel always chooses the Winchesters over Heaven, running at your beck and call. So maybe you know where Metatron is."

Dean frowned. "What? How the hell should I know that?"

"Castiel did break the Scribe out to save you, didn't he?" Efram said. "That's what he always does."

Dean swallowed hard, not liking the gaps his brain was filling in here. Angels looking for Metatron, questioning Cas…though that was probably putting it very mildly.

"Look, Metatron's in the wind, but his grace is gone. He's human now! He's not a threat to you anymore." Dean quickly pulled his phone away to glance at the screen and double check the GPS beacon. It was still broadcasting from the same location.

Efram was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was low and steely. "Let's talk about a real threat, then. Castiel says the Darkness has been released, and I bet you and your brother are at the center of it."

Dean's chest constricted. What was he supposed to say to that? Yeah, the Darkness was free and it was his fault. He hadn't been able to do what needed to be done to ensure the Mark stayed on his arm and Death cast him away where he could never hurt anyone again. And Sam had gone and had Rowena remove it, even though Dean had told him not to. They both had broken the world yet again.

And it was too much to ask for the angels to actually help them. More likely they wanted to smite the Winchester brothers. Dean didn't necessarily blame them, but he couldn't let them take it out on Cas.

"Castiel won't give up your location," Efram went on before Dean could think of something to say. "So why don't you just come to us."

Dean heard the start of a muffled protest that was cut off by a dull thwack and grunt. He jammed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. "I'm already on my way."

* * *

Castiel spat a glob of blood from his mouth onto the floor, his head still ringing from Jonah striking him.

Efram set the cell phone down. "Dean Winchester will be here soon."

Castiel's heart dropped into his stomach. No. He couldn't let Dean be caught by the angels. They would torture the hunter for answers he didn't have, and then some more just out of sadistic pleasure.

The attack curse burrowing into his grace fed his panic, sending jolts of adrenaline through his quivering muscles, but it wasn't enough to give Castiel the strength to lift the chain off the hook he was dangling from. Helpless rage boiled deep in his gut like churning lava, and Castiel squirmed against the fire that felt as though it were trying to burn through him from the inside out.

Efram picked up the bloodied angel blade again. "While we're waiting…" He inserted the tip just underneath Castiel's collarbone, rotating it slowly. Castiel couldn't hold back the groan of pain. "I do believe that when you prayed, you said you would confess your transgressions."

Efram pushed the blade in deeper, rending a cry from Castiel's throat.

"So, Castiel, start confessing."

* * *

Dean pulled up outside the old, dilapidated building and turned off the engine. The signal from Cas's phone hadn't stopped transmitting from this location.

He knew going in alone was a bad idea, but he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Drawing his angel blade, Dean crept cautiously toward the door. He was expecting a trap, but it still stunned him when a figure emerged from a dark alcove and slammed his head against the wall. Black spots exploded across his vision, and he staggered woozily trying to clear it. A hand grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back to the point his shoulder almost dislocated, and another hand clamped over the back of his neck. Dean grunted as he was roughly manhandled through a door and into a wide space.

He had to blink several times to see straight, and the first thing his eyes caught was Cas, handcuffed and chained to a hook extending from the ceiling. He'd been stripped of his beige coat and suit jacket, his white dress shirt in blood streaked tatters. He wasn't even supporting his own weight as he dangled in the chains, eyes closed.

There was an angel with brown hair swept back like a Wall Street frat boy standing next to Cas, mouth pursed in a thoughtful moue, a bloodstained angel blade in his hand. Dean glanced over his shoulder and got a brief glimpse of the second angel: darker hair, crew cut.

"Which one of you is Efram?" Dean ground out, his head still captured in the unyielding grip.

The one holding the blade shifted to face him. "I am."

Dean gritted his teeth. That was who he was gonna kill first, then. If he could figure out his next move… Dammit, he never thought he'd miss the Mark. Well, not _it_ , but the extra strength it gave him to take on some of the more heavy hitters.

"Well, I'm here," Dean continued, trying to maintain a degree of nonchalance. "What do you want?"

Efram's eyes narrowed. "Did you and your brother set the Darkness free?"

"No." Technically it'd been Rowena, but Dean didn't plan on getting into details with these thugs. He just needed to buy enough time to think of a way out of this.

Efram's nostrils flared and he took a menacing step forward. "I don't believe you."

"Yeah, well, I don't care if you believe me or not."

Efram lifted the blade he'd obviously been using on Cas and held it against Dean's cheek. "Where is it?"

"I don't know." He winced as the edge of the blade pressed harder, not enough to break skin yet.

"Do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"

Dean's throat bobbed. He knew it was bad, badder than anything they'd ever faced before. "You wanna stow your crap and actually help me figure out how to stop it?" he lobbed back.

Efram sneered at him. "Work with a Winchester? I wouldn't lower myself to Castiel's pathetic level."

"No, just a demon's with the whole torture gambit," Dean couldn't help but retort. He knew it wouldn't win him any points, and sure enough, Efram backhanded him across the face. It wasn't enough to knock him free of the other angel's hold, unfortunately.

Cas suddenly let out a low moan.

Efram turned to give the trussed up angel a false smile. "Oh good, he's awake. Wouldn't want him to miss this." Efram stalked around Cas and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back sharply. Cas let out a pained gasp, eyelids fluttering blearily as he fought his way to consciousness. Dean struggled against the second angel's grip.

"Look who made it, Castiel," Efram taunted, jerking Cas's head to the side so he could see Dean.

The hunter tried to give his friend an encouraging smile, but with his arm still twisted behind him, it came out more like a grimace.

Cas's bloodshot eyes widened. "No," he rasped, voice sounding wrecked from who knew how many hours of being tortured to the point of screams. Dean felt a chilled coil of ire wrap around his insides. These bastards were gonna pay for this.

"Now, Dean says he doesn't know where the Darkness is," Efram continued conversationally. "You say you don't know either. One or both of you must be lying." He let go of Cas and walked back to Dean. "So, I'm gonna take turns asking each of you, and every time you refuse to answer, the other gets to reap the consequences. Let's see how long before one of you cracks, shall we?"

Dean braced himself for the inevitable pain as Efram raised the blade toward his chest. Cas started thrashing in the chains, and Dean was startled by the animalistic snarl that suddenly rent from the angel's lips.

Cas swung his legs up and snapped them around Efram's neck, locking his ankles and attempting to fling the angel from side to side. Efram let out a surprised cry as he was yanked off his feet.

The second angel's hold loosened as he made an abortive move to help, which was all Dean needed. He threw his elbow back into the angel's face, dislodging the hand on his other arm. Twisting around, Dean snatched the guy's own angel blade from his belt and shoved it right between his ribs into his heart. The angel's mouth flew wide as he screamed, a supernova blazing out from his throat.

Dean yanked the blade out and whirled just as Efram managed to stab Cas in the legs twice, forcing him to let go. Cas dropped like a sack of meat in those chains, and Efram raised his blade to finish the job.

Dean surged forward and thrust his own blade through Efram's throat. Another explosion of light filled the room before the body hit the floor with a thud. So Efram hadn't gone first, but he would never lay a hand on Cas again, and that was all that mattered.

Dean turned toward his friend, only to pull up short at the snapping snarl Cas directed at him. The angel's shoulders and chest were heaving, eyes wide and mixed with blood…wait a second. No, it couldn't be.

"Cas?" Dean stood stock still in the middle of this makeshift torture chamber, staring in stupefaction at his best friend writhing like a rabid animal.

Cas wrenched against the chains one more time, only to finally sag in them. He was panting, and squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head into one arm.

"Dean," his voice cracked.

"Yeah, right here, buddy. Everything's gonna be okay." Dean had no idea if that was actually true, but he took a cautious step closer, reaching out to get those chains unhooked.

Cas jerked away from him. "No, it's too dangerous."

"What is?" Dean had a guess, but was really hoping Cas would tell him otherwise.

Cas let out a shuddering breath. "Me. It's a- a curse."

Dean swallowed hard. "Rowena?"

Cas nodded, still not looking at him.

Dean inhaled sharply. Son-of-a-bitch. That was another person going on his hit list.

"You need to run, Dean."

He bristled. "Like hell. I am not just gonna leave you chained up here."

"You have to," Cas choked out, a violent tremor rippling through him. "I- I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You won't, okay? We'll get you back to the bunker."

Dean grabbed the chains and strained to lift them the few inches needed to bring them off the hook. Once free, Cas's arms dropped like dead weight to his sides and he swayed, one leg nearly buckling. Dean slipped an arm around his back to brace him.

"Which one of these dicks has the key to those?" he asked, nodding to the handcuffs.

Cas started shaking his head fervently. "Leave them on."

"Leave—" Dean forced himself to take a breath, and decided not to argue. He'd seen this particular curse in action, and it wasn't pretty. Cas was handling it well enough, though; the humans Rowena had cursed had turned completely rabid. That had to be a good sign.

Dean adjusted his grip on Cas and angled him toward the exit. "Come on."

They both staggered their way out of the building and to the Impala. Dean eased Cas into the front passenger seat, then ran back to collect the angel blades, Cas's phone, and his coat. Cas really liked the thing, and Dean didn't want to leave it behind. Then he stashed everything in the trunk and booked it back to the bunker.

* * *

Castiel shuddered, and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to ease the fire festering inside him. Rowena's curse was digging deeper, tearing into his grace and leaving it in shreds. He was barely keeping the effects at bay, and had nothing left to expend on his injuries. Blood loss was making him dizzy, and every inch of him hurt each time the Impala hit a small rut in the road. He curled in on himself.

He didn't want to be here, didn't want to risk putting Dean in harm's way. Yet at the same time, the bunker was a promise of security, a place where he could be locked up and unable to hurt anyone. He just had to keep it together until they got there.

Castiel was so focused on breathing through the spasms that he didn't even realize they had pulled into the bunker's garage until Dean was crouching in front of him, the passenger door open.

"Cas?" The lines around those green eyes crinkled with worry.

He shifted, unfurling a little to get out of the car. His leg gave out when he tried to stand, and he collapsed against the door. Dean ducked in to take part of his weight.

"Easy, easy. Shit, you gonna make it down the stairs?"

Castiel nodded, because that was the ultimate goal: make it somewhere safe. Just a little further.

He limped with Dean right beside him, through the garage to the balcony and then down the steps. Dean guided him down the hallway, but Castiel stopped short when the hunter tried to make the wrong turn.

"No, the dungeon."

Dean's expression hardened. "I am not locking you up in the friggin' dungeon, Cas."

He gritted his teeth; that was the only reason he'd agreed to come here. "You have to."

"String you up like those bastards did? I don't think so." Dean yanked on Castiel's arm, now half dragging him toward the dormitory wing.

" _Dean_ ," he growled in frustration. "You don't understand."

"I know what spell this is, so yeah, I do," Dean retorted, and then he let out a long breath before lowering his tone. "We can chain you to the bed. Because you are gonna lay down and let me look at those wounds."

Castiel supposed that was an acceptable compromise. And he was in so much pain…

Dean nudged a door open with his boot and helped Castiel inside to the bed. "I'm gonna go grab the first aid kit," he said, leaving Castiel to sink onto the mattress. He was sorely tempted to lay down in search of numbing darkness, but he couldn't risk a lapse in control for the spell to take advantage of.

Dean returned several minutes later with arms full of supplies, which he set out on the dresser. Then he turned toward Castiel, an extra set of chains in his hand and a reluctant look on his face.

"Please, Dean," Castiel said, trying to alleviate the man's guilt. This was for the best.

Dean huffed, but came over and snapped one cuff around a standing pipe behind the nightstand, and the other around the chain of handcuffs Castiel was already wearing. The hunter suddenly grabbed Castiel's hand and turned it slowly from side to side, examining the bruises and places where skin had been scraped off.

"Cas…"

He tried to tug his hand back. "It's fine." The injuries hurt, and every time the metal cuff slid up or down it sent jolts of pain through the tender spots, but it was a small price to pay for ensuring Dean's safety.

Dean looked ready to argue, jaw ticking, but he kept silent, and instead grabbed some antiseptic wipes off the dresser. With a gentleness Castiel wasn't expecting, Dean pushed one metal bracelet up as far as it could go, and began dabbing at Castiel's raw wrist. It stung, but was brief in comparison to the time he'd spent being Efram and Jonah's piñata.

Dean wrapped Castiel's wrist in gauze, layering it several times over, then leaned back to study it. After a moment, he pulled out a bandana and wrapped that around the bandage as well. Then he let the handcuff ring slide back down, the wounds now sufficiently cushioned against its sharp edge. Dean did the same to Castiel's other wrist.

Finished, Dean straightened and frowned. "I'm gonna have to cut the shirt off."

Castiel glanced down at the tattered thing. If he ever found a way to remove this spell, he could probably repair it. And if he didn't…well, then it mattered little anyway.

Castiel nodded. Dean took out a small knife, and Castiel felt a thrill of fear as light reflected off the shining blade. He closed his eyes.

He heard the squeak of a floorboard, felt the displacement of air as Dean moved close, and suddenly the tang of copper was infiltrating Castiel's nose and mouth, the impacts of Dean's fists against flesh radiating through Castiel's body.

He squeezed his eyes tighter and breathed sharply through his nose. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Right now, it wasn't real.

"Cas?" Dean's voice sounded far away. "Cas, come on, buddy, talk to me."

Castiel let out a shuddering gasp and his eyes snapped open. He shivered as cold air washed over his exposed back and chest. His shirt lay in bloodied strips on the floor, and Dean was no longer holding the knife.

"You with me?" Dean asked, trying to sound composed, though Castiel detected the slight tenor of worry in his voice.

Not trusting himself to speak, Castiel gave a slow, measured nod.

"Okay." Dean's gaze shifted downward, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Castiel held very still, not looking down at his wounds. Dean moved to grab a cloth and water bottle from the dresser. Castiel closed his eyes again.

The first brush over one of the lacerations was light, but Castiel still tensed. He felt his grace and the curse churning inside him, Rowena's spell skewering him like taloned barbs, worming ever deeper. Like being eaten alive from the inside.

"You're hunching too much," Dean's voice broke through the haze. "Can you lay down?"

Castiel lifted his gaze to Dean's, frowning in confusion. Dean shifted awkwardly, and then reached out to take Castiel's shoulders and guide him back to rest against the pillows. His chest constricted at the more vulnerable position, and he dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself grounded.

"Where's Sam?" he finally asked, trying to find something else to concentrate on. He flinched when Dean continued wiping the blood from another gash.

Dean didn't respond right away. "Nebraska. When the Darkness was released, there was this smoke, and it infected the people of a nearby town, turning them into…well, rabid animals. Not a curse, though; more like a disease, a contagious one."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "But…why is Sam still there? Did- is he?" Castiel tried to sit up in a panic, but Dean gently pushed him back down.

"Sam stayed behind to try to find a cure. Save people," he added in a low tone. "There was this baby at the hospital we were hiding in. I got it and another person out of town while Sam stayed behind."

"I don't understand," Castiel stammered. "Why- why aren't you back there now?"

Dean shot him a bland look. "I was coming to find you first."

Castiel started shaking his head. "I can't help with this, Dean. I'm…the spell…"

"I know, Cas, I'm not asking you to." Dean dabbed away more of the blood. "Okay, I'm gonna start stitching this. You good for that?"

Castiel gaped at him, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "What? No. Dean, you need to get back to Sam."

The Winchester's expression darkened. "First you tell me to leave you trussed up in that building, and now you're telling me to leave you chained up and bleeding all over the bed?"

"But Sam—"

"Is a big boy." Dean turned away with a scowl to pick up a needle and thread. His movements were stiff with barely concealed anger, and he turned back too quickly. Castiel jerked away from him.

Dean froze, threaded needle in hand. "Cas?"

"I'm sorry," he rasped, ducking his gaze. "This is too dangerous, Dean. Please, just go back and help Sam."

Dean didn't say anything for several long moments, and then Castiel felt the edge of the mattress dip as Dean slowly lowered himself onto it. "I'm not gonna hurt you," the hunter said, voice low and contrite.

Castiel made a choked sound in the back of his throat. "I'm not worried about that."

"You sure?" Dean pressed. "Cas, look at me."

Castiel refused. He didn't want Dean to see the violence he knew was swirling in his eyes, the fetid wrongness consuming him piece by piece, trying to rip him apart and exert control, just like the Leviathan had, like Naomi had. Dean didn't need to see Castiel ruined and loathsome like that again. It was bad enough Dean seeing him this weak.

"I don't blame you for not trusting me," Dean said quietly. "Hell, if Sam were here, I'd let him patch you up if it made things easier. But he's not, and I'm all you got."

Castiel finally looked at him. "Of course I trust you, Dean."

A muscle in the hunter's jaw ticked. "That why you start having a panic attack every time I come near you with something sharp?"

Castiel's throat tightened. "I don't want the spell to get triggered if it perceives a threat."

"And you have every reason to see me as one." Dean sighed. "What I did…"

"You weren't yourself," Castiel automatically replied.

"That's not an excuse," Dean retorted, then shook his head. "I nearly killed you. God, if I had actually gone through with it…" His expression pinched in pain and misery. "I never would have come back from that."

Castiel reached out to squeeze Dean's wrist. "You're stronger than you think."

Castiel hadn't stopped Dean that day. Oh, he'd tried, tried to get through to Dean underneath the rage and bloodlust. But he'd failed. Dean was the one who pulled back of his own accord, and not because of anything Castiel had done or said.

Dean looked away, a sheen gathering in his eyes. After a few moments, he apparently collected himself and turned back. "Okay if I stitch these up now? If it gets to be too much, just tell me and we'll take a break."

Castiel took in a shuddering breath. He knew Dean was only trying to help, that any pain that came next was with the intent to heal. But he was afraid of setting off the spell.

"Dean, I don't trust _myself_."

Dean twisted his wrist out of Castiel's grip to take hold of his forearm, returning the comforting squeeze. "But you said you trust me, right?"

Castiel frowned, but nodded.

"Okay, well I trust you. So you're covered."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "That doesn't make sense."

Dean smiled, and patted his arm. "Just trust me."

Castiel wanted to be exasperated, but it took too much energy and he was getting so tired. So he decided to let go this one time, and put not only his life, but his responsibility for Dean's life in the Winchester's own hands.

* * *

It took forever for Dean to stitch all the wounds on Cas's body. They'd had to take several breaks when Cas's trembling got to be too jerky for Dean to keep working. Cas kept trying to apologize, as if everything was his fault, which it wasn't, not even close. At one point, Cas had started getting a little delirious, mumbling about being a burden and problem for the Winchesters.

Dean had given up trying to convince the angel otherwise after the fifth episode, and settled for silently wiping the sweat off Cas's brow during bouts of tremors, hoping actions rather than words might do a better job of getting the message across. After all, Dean wasn't dense enough not to realize how his actions over the years might have contributed to his best friend's current estimation of himself.

Words and actions. How often did they really align in the Winchester sphere?

Of course Dean was worried about Sam, but there was no way he was leaving Cas like this. And if Sam were here, he would agree. Putting other people first. Saving them.

Once Cas was all patched up and dozing in what he hoped was a healing sleep, Dean draped a couple blankets over the angel and stepped out into the hall. He tried calling Jenna to see how she and Amara were doing, but there was no answer. He left a voice message.

Then he considered calling Sam. How long had it been since they last checked in with each other? Only a day? Felt like longer.

He decided to text his brother instead, just in case Sam was neck deep in something. Hopefully a cure and not bodies, though Dean honestly didn't have much hope for that. This was the Darkness, after all. Something pre- _everything_.

Dean slumped against the wall. Now that Cas was resting, he had nothing to do, no action to take. It left him exhausted after the past few days, but also antsy. He hated waiting around.

His phone started ringing, startling him so bad he smacked his head on the wall. Glancing at the caller ID, he immediately answered. "Sam?"

"Dean! I did it." Kid sounded as giddy as when he was chatting about his serial killer fetish. "I found a cure."

It took Dean a moment to process that before his knees nearly turned to jello. "Seriously?" Son-of-a-bitch, that was the last time he'd doubt the effectiveness of his little brother's tenacity.

"Yeah! Tracked down everyone in town who was left and cured them. We're making our way to the next county right now. Where are you?"

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. "The bunker. I found Cas."

"He okay?" Sam asked, no doubt detecting the strain in Dean's voice.

"No, he's…he's in bad shape. Can you make it back here on your own?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam hurried to assure him, all trace of that triumphant high gone and replaced with urgency. "We hot-wired a few cars from town. I'll be there soon." The line disconnected.

Dean took a deep breath, looking through the doorway at Cas's still form buried underneath the blankets. Sam had just found a cure for the impossible; they'd find a way to beat this too.

* * *

 **A/N: We can assume that Dean later hears about Jenna's and her grandmother's deaths, maybe even that a "Father Crowley" was involved. The Winchesters are smart; they'll figure it out. ;) Thanks for reading!**


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